The Music of an Astute Mind

It’s Mental Health Awareness month here in Australia. I often shy away from campaigns. Yes, more awareness is helpful to the general public, but it is also triggering for the sufferers. Instead, I’ve been finding refuge in an old favourite pastime: music. Why music? It expresses what the soul cannot put into words. Let me elaborate.

Growing up, most of the music I heard and was taught at school centred around communism. Songs of praise, songs of pride, songs of revolutionary war. There were brief moments when I heard songs of times gone past in secretive places. These songs were so very different. They described nature, they brought poetry to life, they were thankful and hopeful for culture and tradition to be passed down.

It was 1996 when I was first introduced to music of another kind. We sang about kookaburras sitting in old gum trees, the open wides and come insides, and the wake up Jeffs. To say that I was amazed is an understatement. Then came 1997, the year of the Titanic, and my first introduction to how music is used to express love. How does a heart go on indeed, without such beauty in song?

Music class 1999. I was 11 years old, soon to turn 12. Our music teacher played us Billy Joel’s “The Longest Time”, and I was hooked. Life no longer made sense without music in it. I begged my parents to let me learn a musical instrument, and they got me an ancient German piano for very cheap. It was completely out of tune and we didn’t have the money to tune it, but who cared. I half taught myself the piano, together with random lessons here and there. When my parents were better off financially, I picked up the flute as well in high school. That was 2002. By 2004, I was doing AMEB grade 8 piano and AMEB grade 6 flute.

My favourite piano music was actually Baroque pieces by none other than the great Bach himself. They had melody, they had counter melody, they had a bass, they had structure and they were a joy to play. I eventually gave up the flute. It really wasn’t me. As an adult, I picked up the cello, and I’ve been in love with it ever since. I’d rather play cello than the piano any day, but no Pachelbel please. One day, I will play Schindler’s List. Listening to it brings such melancholy and sorrow, but an innate sense of wonder and beauty too.

What do I think and feel nowadays when I hear a revolutionary communist song? It was all a lie. There was an entire universe of music out there waiting to be discovered.